


Now I *Know* I Know too Little

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Episode Related, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-11-11
Updated: 1999-11-11
Packaged: 2018-11-11 05:43:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11142135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: In which I explore the differences between Turnbull and Laurell from "The Man Who Knew too Little".





	Now I *Know* I Know too Little

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).
    
    
    Well, look them. Compare the two. Laurier and Turnbull. Same person!
    
    Just remember, Dean McDermott is cool.. not that I've seen him in anything
    but dueSOUTH. 
    
    Spoilers for: "The Man Who Knew Too Little"
     
    It's just a harmless PWP. Please don't hate me.
    
    Rated:  PG.  I've got a naughty word, nah nah nah-nah nah. 
    
    Disclaimer: They are not mine, unfortunately. They belong to Alliance.
    I wish they were mine, I always wanted a Mountie of my very own. I would
    squeeze him and hug him and I would name him George. 
     
    Now I Know I Know too Little 
    a story by ShrinkingViolet 
    
    "Benny?" Detective Ray Vecchio asked his friend carefully, walking into
    the small, cramped consulate office. "Are you all right? Something's
    been bothering you. I haven't seen you eat in days, and you don't look
    like you've been sleeping." 
    
    Constable Benton Fraser turned desperate eyes toward the man sitting
    across the desk from him. "Please, Ray, I think I'm going insane!" 
    
    "What's wrong, Fraser?" Ray asked urgently. He hadn't seen Fraser looking
    this bad since... Well, he didn't know when. The Mountie's arms started
    to wave wildly in the air, punctuating each word. "It began when Turnbull
    first came to Chicago, you see, I thought he looked familiar, I just
    couldn't figure it out, though! I just pushed it to the back of my brain.
    I-" 
    
    "Get to the point, Benny." Ray interrupted his friend's rambling, but
    not unkindly. 
    
    Fraser took a deep breath, handed the Chicago detective a photograph
    and looked at his friend expectantly. 
    
    "Well?" He asked eagerly. 
    
    "What?" Ray asked, confused and bristling. He recognized the man in the
    picture, all right. Fraser sighed. 
    
    "You remember when we were escorting Ian MacDonald to Canada, and we
    were set upon by members of the Canadian Mafia? This man was one of them."
    He said. Ray growled. 
    
    "And you made me blow up my baby." He finished, crossing his arms. Fraser
    rolled his eyes, handing the other man another photo. This one of Constable
    Renfield Turnbull. 
    
    Ray studied the two pictures and his eyes widened. "Shit." He said with
    his usual eloquence. "They're the same... Just take off Laurier's goatee
    and..." 
    
    "I'm glad you've figured it out." A cold voice came from the doorway.
    "Just killing you without you knowing would take all the fun out of it."
    The man they knew as Constable Renfield Turnbull, stupid but lovable
    Mountie, stepped into the room, gun in hand. 
    
    He pointed it casually in the Detective's direction. 
    
    "You see," he continued, "I knew I had to get close to you. Take you
    both from surprise. I figured," he motioned toward his red serge uniform,
    "what better way than this?" 
    
    "You're mad." The real Constable observed. The fake laughed. 
    
    "In more ways than one." He countered. 
    
    "So... you've been Laurier, all this time." Ray said. It was not said
    as a question. 
    
    "Yes, Detective Vecchio." The criminal answered needlessly. 
    
    "Why?" Asked Fraser, his brow wrinkled. 
    
    "Revenge, moron." 
    
    "Oh." 
    
    The three men sat, and stood, in awkward silence for a few moments, then
    Laurier shrugged. "Okay, enough of this jabbering. Time to meet your
    makers." He raised the gun. 
    
    *BONK* 
    
    Detective and Constable flinched, then sat up straighter. "Um, thank
    you, Sir." 
    
    Fraser said, extremely flustered. His commanding officer, Inspector Margaret
    Thatcher, was standing over the prone body, the remains of a potted plant
    in hand. The gun lay a few feet away. She nodded imperiously. 
    
    "Don't let it happen again, Constable." She said firmly, a proud tilt
    to her head. 
    
    "Understood, Sir." 
     
    ~Fin~ 
    This story was brought to you from the mind of ShrinkingViolet, queen
    of the run-on sentence people.
    
    


End file.
